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TOKYO
Walking the grounds of Senso-ji Temple, I look among the statues, half expecting Buddha or Kannon Bosatsu to appear, but only a pigeon answers my expectations. Lighting a joss bundle and placing it into the burner I imagine for a moment that I am zainichi, but the giggles of a flock of uniformed schoolgirls reminds me cruelly…
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LISTENING TO THE FLUTE
YAKUSAN HOLDS IT 鐵笛倒吹 十 Sit just above the peak of the highest mountain and reach up with open fingers, what will you grasp? Walk slowly across the floor of the deepest sea, what do you see below you? If you have three daughters is any one less beautiful than the others? JOSHU COVERS…
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ISSA PAUSES
first snow of winter white coated Buddha dreaming of chrysanthemums prayer flags unmoving in the stillness of morning summer or winter? tomorrow is gone, yesterday has disappeared. what moment is this?
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FLOWING
A young man stands on the bank a river and sees the water toppling over and around uncaring stones. Halfway up the slope of the great mountain an old man steps from his small hut looks down at a hawk circling the river, watching for the glint of a passing salmon. From its aerie…
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BASHO’S DREAMS
on the sacred lake lotus blossoms grasp the sun Buddha steps lightly Buddha cares little for the endless prostrations preferring Summer setting summer sun turns the river to purple moon comes from hiding
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THE HERMIT
The hermit lives in the shadow of the great mountain listening to the symphony of the bluebird and the wild Rose engulfed by the sky, the meandering stream his constant companion. I live in a city in a sea of city dwellers each of us prisoners marching from cell to cell, with passing nods we…
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NARA
The clouds shimmer in echo of the peel of the great temple bell. Hearing the chorus of monks, a small red maple sheds a leaf. It is the butterfly whose wings gavotte to the inkin bell which causes waves to lap the shore of a distant sea.
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BULLET TRAIN
From the window of a speeding train the rice fields seem like carpets, today the gold of the alchemist’s dream, just months ago the green of imagined grasses over the next hill. When I sit down to dinner in Osaka, will the rice nestled in my chopsticks tell me of the dreams of those who…
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DAWN
Early morning Tokyo awakens, gray, moist. In the small park the crows listen for the Temple bell then bowing to the Buddha, call out their morning chants.
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PARSINGS
The old monk sits cross legged on a grass mat, a faint smile dances across his lips. He invites me to sit, our meeting, he says, is notable. I sit, legs folded as best I can, and begin to ask but he silences me, “First tea.” He sets the cups down on the hardpack dirt floor, there is…
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an old writer and his words 